Just A Few Drinks
by novadiablo
Summary: Sequel to Could You Imagine, Mycroft/Lestrade, hinted John/Sherlock NC-17
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – This is (finally) the sequel for 'Could You Imagine', and starts off with Sherlock doing something stupid and poor Mycroft having a breakdown. Obviously NC-17, but not this chapter.**

It was either very late at night or very early morning and Sherlock was far away with John probably consummating their relationship. Mycroft and Lestrade, on the other hand, were sitting in the further corner of the dirtiest bar and far too exhausted to be awkward even though the last time they saw each other circumstances had been unusual.

Mycroft was hunched over and his hair wasn't its usual chic sleek. It more looked like he had just woken up from hibernating with restless bears for a few years. Lestrade had his head leaned against the white-painted brick wall and a generic beer in his hand, courtesy of Mycroft.

Because Mycroft was very thankful that the man sitting across from him had managed to reach his brother in time, he really truly was. He'd back off on security and surveillance with Sherlock since the… incident, and that's what had him tied in a knot tonight.

"You can't blame yourself," Lestrade said, voice cracking because he hadn't used it in the past hour and because he was so tired. Mycroft surveyed him through his eyelashes with bloodshot eyes and blinked a few times.

"I don't see why I shouldn't." Mycroft replied, pressing his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. "I got slack with security because of the… thing." Mycroft waved his hands airily in the air and even this movement seemed to tire him.

"Yes, because it's your fault that he can't knock, and that he has addictive tendencies and that he can't hold a solid relationship with the only person who will put up with him. That's all your fault is it?"

Lestrade was going to continue, but the weakness in Mycroft's face stopped him. "When was the last time you ate?" He said seriously, trying to hold Mycroft gaze. Mycroft eyes dropped and Lestrade had to catch him by the shoulders to stop him from dropping face first onto the table. Manoeuvring awkwardly around the table while still holding Mycroft's face, and eventually got his arms around his tiny waist and was able to shuffle him out of the bar and into the limousine..

"The closest McDonalds, please."

"Noo!" Mycroft mumbled. "I'm on a diet!"

"This is me not caring," Lestrade said as he observed Mycroft swaying with the car. Surprisingly, the driver obeyed his commands over Mycroft's complaints, and not ten minutes later Lestrade was scoffing a Big Mac and a large chocolate shakes and Mycroft was thankfully pigging out on two Quarter Pounders and a large Sprite while muttering about how much he wasn't enjoying it.

The drive to Mycroft's house (mansion) was a long one, and the man himself had begun to fall asleep, however while crunching up the drive, Mycroft gasped and sat straight upright, before curling to the side against the door and muttering something.

When the car parked and Lestrade pulled Mycroft out, arms wrapped around his waist and Mycroft whispered in his ear, "It's all my fault. Entirely" before finding solid footing and stumbling up the driveway. Lestrade helped him to his room (why it was up two flights of stairs he will never understand) and Mycroft sat down on his bed, a little more alert now.

"I should get changed." He said in a tired but very Mycroft-y voice. Lestrade made a move to leave, but Mycroft waved that thought away. "Oh it's nothing you haven't seen before. I'll need your help anyway."

And that was how Lestrade ended up helping Mycroft into pyjamas (blue pinstriped) and due to Mycroft's physical insistence (he briefly got his strength back, but Lestrade refused to recognise this as unusual) also ended up spending the night with his arms wrapped around Mycroft's weak, shivering body.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is not beta'd and I should be doing assignments, however the fabulous Atlin Merrick insisted I write faster, so here is something. Not NC-17 yet, sorreh!**

The thing that kept Lestrade awake most of the night (other than the fact he was holding the man he once tongue-fucked) is that Mycroft's behaviour was almost normal – for a Holmes. Sure, he'd been exhausted and more than a little disturbed. This was understandable considering his younger brother had nearly died earlier that day and he hadn't eaten or slept for longer than healthy. But the fact the Mycroft had been so out of sorts he hadn't even bothered to keep up his usually regal façade around the man he felt the most uncomfortable around.

Another similarity between the Holmes brothers (other than forgetting to eat) is that they can run on very little sleep. It was just over three hours after they'd fallen asleep that Mycroft leapt out of bed and began shuffling through papers, and it wasn't until Lestrade mumbled a bleary 'what're you doing?' that the man even remembered he was there.

"Work to be done, Detective Inspector, as always." Mycroft said, almost wistfully. And just like that, with his hair mussed and wearing creased pyjamas, Mycroft was once again his regal and sharp self. "I understand you didn't sleep well last night, you are welcome to remain here to sleep while I am at work if you find it pleasing."

"You are way too much like your brother sometimes, d'you know that?" Lestrade said before turning onto his stomach and face-planting the pillow with a slight groan.

"I'll forgive you for that slight, as you are still very sleepy," Mycroft said with a smile in his voice. "Towels are in the bathroom with the dressing gowns; my cleaner will wash your clothes for you." He said and began heading out the door.

"Mycroft!" Lestrade called, pushing himself up with his arms and staring at Mycroft's head – which was popped back through the door at a very awkward angle.

"Yes?" He said, after a short delay.

"You can't actually be serious? You just slept three hours after not eating for only God knows how long. Besides, I'll need to take your statement as there was police involvement."

"I find your apprehension touching," Mycroft said with an annoyed smile. "However, you were there acting as a concerned party, not an officer, and you wouldn't be taking my statement as you have… personal ties with the family. However, please, stay and enjoy the pleasures my humble home has to offer, and when I return, if it pleases you, I will fill out a statement."

The way Mycroft spat out 'personal' confirmed Lestrade's belief that Mycroft held him partly responsible for Sherlock, however the gentleness of his voice by the end did its job my cancelling out the harshness.

"I think I will, thanks." He said, and Mycroft smiled a real, warm smile at him.

"Won't be long!" Mycroft called and Lestrade lay back, staring at the ceiling and wondering when his life became so complicated – and when Mycroft Holmes opinion began to matter.


	3. Chapter 3

Lestrade spent the majority of the day in bed. In his defence, it was a very nice, very big, very comfortable bed and he was very tired from trying to stop a man from killing himself and then from spending the night wrapped around the man's ridiculously thin brother trying to a) not get an erection and b) not think about how warm his ass was.

So yes, as soon as he wasn't trying to keep enough composure to avoid Mycroft throwing him out on the street and declaring him a 'dirty tramp', Lestrade fell into the bathroom and decided to enjoy a bath. The maid – an elderly woman with dark skin and a knack of being neither seen nor heard – came in to collect his clothes after he'd slipped in.

He relaxed there for a very long time, his fingers were pruney and he nearly fell asleep before he decided to drag himself out. Mycroft obviously enjoyed luxury, and his towels were no exception. Lestrade spent a long time just caressing himself with the towel before he noticed a fresh orange toothbrush sitting in its box on the basin.

So Lestrade did something he couldn't do at home (due to prying neighbours and bad design choice) and he brushed his teeth naked. It was glorious and his teeth were incredibly clean. After that he grabbed a dressing gown and fell onto the bed, instantly asleep.

He was woken approximately three hours later by Mycroft flopping down on the bed next to him (somehow with dignity). Lestrade immediately almost flew off the bed upright and began stuttering and tightening the belt on his dressing gown.

He shuffled his feet and mumbled something about statements but Mycroft was in front of him in an instant, silencing him with a heartfelt, "No, no, no."

"Why not?" Lestrade asked, surprised.

"Well you see," Mycroft whispered, stepping far too close and fingering the belt of the dressing gown, "this is my dressing gown you're wearing, and I find that fact _very_ distracting." Lestrade swallowed awkwardly but couldn't help noticing the husky quality in Mycroft's voice.

The man in front of him ran his fingertips from behind Lestrade's ear, down his neck and down further to rest on the knot of the belt. Then he closed two fingers around Lestrade's wrist and pushed it against his crotch, shivering only the slightest bit when contact was made.

A breathy "oh" came from Lestrade, and the warm air hit Mycroft's neck like fire.

"See what I mean," Mycroft whispered in his ear and Lestrade smiled widely before pulling him close.

"Oh yes," he whispered into the inky hair.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This took way longer to do than it should have, considering it's the holidays for me. Ohsey wellsey, this is the fourth chapter of this 'thing', in which Mycroft thinks incoherently and my hipster shows through in my decision to name Lestrade 'Gene'.**

Lestrade's breath began to speed up when Mycroft slowly backed him against the wall, pecking him on the lips continuously. Suddenly he was pinned there; hips to hips, and long fingers skimmed a collarbone no longer covered by fluffy dressing gown.

"I may have been watching you for a while," Mycroft said with no guilt present at all in his voice. This, obviously, shot pleasure down Lestrade's spine and he felt himself begin to respond.

"And," Mycroft continued, "As much as I would like to fuck you, I don't think I'm going to make it that far just now."

It was then that Lestrade heard it. Under the slight breathlessness was the whine of desperation. How long had he been hard?

"Nearly five hours, on and off." Holmes replied to the unasked question, reading his mind in a way that should have been creepy and not at all a turn on. "Brushing your teeth naked is a bad habit Detective Inspector."

Lestrade breathed deeply in through his nose. The British Government smirked at him but the lust in his eyes couldn't be disguised and Lestrade took this moment of distraction and used it to his advantage, flipping the man against the wall and pushing his arms above his head, pinning them there.

Mycroft knew, obviously, that Lestrade wasn't actually one for dominating, that in fact he'd liked to be dominated, stretched out on a bed with his hands above his head and a cock in his arse, and promised to himself that he would make that happen.

None of this was surprising, not even when Lestrade had flipped him over, because this is how Mycroft liked it, manipulating from behind the scenes, letting other people think they were doing something unexpected. What was more fantastic about Gene is that he knew. He _knew_ that Mycroft was really in charge here, and he knew that Mycroft knew, and really it was all very sexy and socially unacceptable which was why it was so much fun.

When the older Holmes felt an inspector of Scotland Yard sliding in a downwards direction, he a thrill of anticipation started in his stomach, lazily slithered up his spine and spread through his brain like ink in water. When he heard (and felt) the hiss of his zipper being undone he allowed his eyes to slide shut, and when Gene's mouth engulfed as much of the oversensitive shaft as it could, he let his head fall back against the wallpaper.

If he was being completely honest (a trait present in Sherlock but certainly not in himself), Mycroft had already gotten release today. He may or may not have 'tossed off' in his expensive bathroom at his office with the footage, but it truly was nothing compared to this.

He forced his eyes open and immediately regretted it, because he almost 'blew his load' at the sight of the stretched mouth (and yes, Mycroft did access a lot of expensive [gay] porn in the time between his little escapade with Lestrade and now. He knew his terms).

All of this was wiped (as much as a Holmes brain can be wiped) when Lestrade did that little flicky thing with his tongue, which cause Mycroft to thrust, which caused his cock to slam against the roof of Lestrade's mouth, which cause him to thrust again, so it was like a double-thrust.

Oddly, this reminded Mycroft of the games he bought Sherlock when he was younger involving double-jumps, until remembered thinking about his brother during oral sex prevented him from the release he so wanted to send down the throat of the man on his knees in front of him.

It was never going to last, not really. Mycroft's erection was very insistent and Mycroft was very ready to clear away the unresolved sexual tension between them. Lestrade clutched at his backside and squeezed and Mycroft groaned as he let his hands fall to his sides and the breath leave his mouth.

Lestrade choked slightly and then swallowed as best he could, and wiped the excess off with Mycroft's gown sleeve.

If there was one image in the cosmos that could make a man who had just orgasmed hard immediately, it was the sight of Gene Lestrade with semen dribbling out of his mouth.

Mycroft's head fell back again with a louder groan this time as Lestrade rose and stepped out of his way. Mycroft then proceeded to stagger to the best and fall on it, face first.

Lestrade shifted uneasily, not quite sure what to do. He was in a dressing gown with come on the sleeves and and erection the size of Wales (or maybe not, but it felt like it).

Then Mycroft turned back, a predatory grin on his face.


End file.
